Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Gabon and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing The Durutti Column to the grunge kids.
I played it at Trash.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by The Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Pere Ubu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Standells record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Womack record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Modern Lovers,
Whodini,
Qualms,
These Immortal Souls,
The Saints,
Desert Stars,
Aloha Tigers,
Avey Tare,
Jeff Mills,
Dead Boys,
The Stooges,
Soul II Soul,
Los Fastidios,
Masters at Work,
Bill Near,
Wasted Youth,
Mo-Dettes,
Pharoah Sanders,
Heaven 17,
Easy Going,
The Dave Clark Five,
Yazoo,
The Techniques,
The Buckinghams,
The Toasters,
Ossler,
Pulsallama,
The Star Department,
The Red Krayola,
The Residents,
Graham Central Station,
Fear,
Delta 5,
Slave,
Gang Starr,
Scientists,
Eve St. Jones,
the Soft Cell,
Isaac Hayes,
L. Decosne,
Hardrive,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Fortunes,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Sixth Finger,
Unwound,
New Age Steppers,
Nick Fraelich,
Derrick May,
Don Cherry,
Malaria!,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Vladislav Delay,
the Slits,
Skaos,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Moleskins,
Iggy Pop,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Jerry's Kids, Jerry's Kids, Jerry's Kids, Jerry's Kids.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.